A Night Wasted
by ManjuuEverwhere
Summary: Wingul and Ivar have reason to drink and Alvin sells the best porange wine. Gaius/Wingul


"Another one."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm paying you for the wine, not your opinions, barkeep. Do your job."

Wingul could see the impudent look that flitted across Alvin's face, but the wine kept flowing anyway. He took what was probably his fifth or seventh drink and swirled it lightly. Or maybe not so lightly, he considered, when the liquid sloshed over his hand.

Alvin wordlessly wiped his bar dry.

"You're drunk," the other drunk guy said, as if that wasn't the whole purpose of spending a night in a tavern. Wingul turned to his left and stared at Ivar.

"You're not the handmaid of me," Wingul reminded him. Ivar winced and Wingul felt smug.

"Why won't Lady Milla come back to me? I led the whole village in daily prayers for her return for months, but not a word!"

Wingul downed his wine as fast as he could to drown out the whining note in Ivar's tone. He had brought it upon himself this time, he realized, and didn't feel so smug anymore.

"I bet she's talking to _him_. I bet he's monopolizing her all day. That phony!"

"Another," Wingul said.

"You're slurring," Alvin informed him, but refilled his glass, then went back to wiping the bar. Maybe it was a compulsive barkeeper tick.

"One day I will find a herd of pterobroncs and we will have a nice chat and they will eat him and he'll be sorry. Maybe I'll forgive him then, and Lady Milla will realize who her true handmaid is!"

"Look," Wingul said and tried not to stumble over the words. "Can you do a little less complaining and a bit more drinking?"

"Please don't encourage him. He gets more talkative the more drunk he becomes."

"Is he even legal? Are you serving a minor here?"

"Don't look at me. I'm a proud citizen of Elympios, I do not know these strange lands' customs."

Wingul was not convinced.

"And he never stops nagging when I refuse to serve him," Alvin added.

Wingul pitied Alvin a bit. Who knew how often the guy had to sit through this. Milla Maxwell had been gone for a while already.

"Why are you here anyway?" he asked. "Weren't you supposed to be a successful businessman? I thought you wanted to go home."

He took the drink too fast this time and choked on it. As he tried to put the glass down, he had some trouble avoiding Alvin's now frantic wiping.

"No reason. I just like the contact with the customers."

Alvin glanced up quickly at Wingul and Ivar, his only customers at this time in the morning, and must have realized himself just how bad a liar he really was. How had he ever fooled anyone?

"He's hoping to impress the other guy," Ivar mumbled with his head between his arms on the counter.

"What?" Wingul asked.

"Don't listen to him, he's drunk," Alvin said and his cleaning cloth stuttered to a sudden halt. Wingul just looked at him and Alvin began wiping again, avoiding his eyes.

"It's just that I want this to work out. It's a good deal. A great deal. An honest life. Yurgen is a bit uptight, is all."

Ivar lifted his head a fraction and laughed. "Last time I was here, he yelled at Alvin to quit sampling the goods."

"It was nothing! Everything's fine. We're fine. We will work it out."

Wingul thought there was an especially determined swing to Alvin's wiping now.

"Another," he said.

Alvin obeyed. Wingul hadn't missed the number of Alvin's drinks either, though he wasn't going through the bottles at Wingul's speed.

"Is my wine glowing?" Wingul asked philosophically. He didn't like the look Alvin shot him.

"So maybe you're drunk enough now to tell us why you're so set on ending up under your chair," the barkeeper said.

Wingul's hands shook as he took the glass.

"I think," he said. "I am."

—

"You want me to do what?"

"Make me your sex slave," Wingul said again. The murderous look on Gaius's face was not exactly the surprised delight he had been hoping for.

"Why in all spirits' name would you..." Gaius shook his head as he searched for words, but none seemed to come.

Wingul spread his arms demonstratively. "You know I lost the power of the booster. I can barely fight at all."

He certainly couldn't fight at Gaius's side anymore.

"So what? What does that have to do with anything? I told you, it doesn't matter."

Of course it mattered. If it didn't, then Gaius had never needed him to begin with. Or maybe it was since Musee's appearance that Wingul's power had become insignificant.

"There is no reason for me to stay here if I am of no use to you."

"You are my tactician first and foremost, Wingul. That has always been your most important task. Did you forget? Before meddling with your cursed booster, you didn't have that power either, and yet you never talked like this."

But Wingul would have if he hadn't found a way to become stronger then.

"You have Rowen for strategies now," he said. Discovering that his rival worked together with his king had been another crushing blow.

"I want you to cooperate with him!"

"And I want an irreplaceable position by your side!"

They both grew silent and just stared at each other. Wingul let his words run through his head again. That might have come out too pathetic.

"Fine," Gaius said after a moment. "I'm not happy with this, but I'm starting to see where this is coming from."

Wingul straightened up. "Then you agree? You'll take me on as your se–"

"Aaah!"

Gaius waved his hands wildly at the right-side entry where Agria had come tottering in. The girl stopped at Gaius's shout and stared curiously at his odd behaviour.

"My s... My _sew _slave! Yes, Wingul, you may be my _sew slave_!" the king said very loudly.

Agria's eyes wandered over to Wingul. Then she started laughing manically.

—

Alvin was also laughing by the time Wingul had finished his tale. He pounded his fist on his squeaky-clean bar and caused Ivar, who had fallen asleep with his head cushioned on his arms, to shoot up. The boy was making odd roaring noises. Maybe he had dreamed he was one of his beasts.

"I changed my mind," Wingul said and quickly snatched his glass from the bar. "I wasn't drunk enough to tell this after all. I will never be drunk enough to tell you anything again."

"I see now," Alvin gasped and tried to calm down. He turned around and fetched a new bottle of porange wine. Wingul didn't even have to ask for a refill this time. He took it as an olive branch. "So the way I see it, you're now stuck with a job you're actually unqualified for."

Wingul was good at many things, but sewing was admittedly not among them.

Alvin looked like he was swallowing back another burst of laughter. "Try to empathize with your king for a moment. Speaking from experience, we adults go to great lengths to keep the children around us innocent."

Wingul understood perfectly well how he had been appointed royal seamstress, even though he thought the matter of Agria's innocence was a moot point. He wouldn't mind so much if the whole thing hadn't stopped their original discussion.

Wingul looked mournfully into his wine. Whatever other complaints he might have about Alvin, like his whole personality, for starters, he did sell a mean porange wine. The best Wingul had ever tasted, if he was honest.

"How am I to make the king happy with sewing?"

Ivar perked up.

"Sewing? I'll show you!"

Wingul turned towards the boy. "What?"

"I'm a master when it comes to thread and needle. Some of Lady Milla's clothes were even done entirely by me!" Wingul blinked as Ivar slipped into a confident pose, ruined slightly by the stain where he had drooled on his sleeve. "Trust me. I'm Lady Milla's handmaid, after all."

Wingul turned back to Alvin. "Another, please."

—

"I really hate to ask this," Gaius said slowly, "but just what is... this?"

Wingul cleared his throat. He avoided looking at the thing in Gaius's hands.

"It is, I mean, I meant to sew a Gaius Dumpling."

Ten hours ago, it had seemed a brilliant idea to Wingul. In the day of light, he began to sense some flaws in his plan. Starting with the fact that having a wasted Maxwell handmaid around didn't automatically make Wingul a sewing genius. Still, there was potential in his plan.

"Your dumplings are so popular that they have become a city icon. Selling this cute dumpling merchandise is bound to become a huge success. They make perfect souvenirs, too."

Gaius eyed the thing critically.

"I'm not sure I would call this cute. To be perfectly honest, it looks more like–"

"You rejected my song with this reasoning too, and I'm telling you it was a mistake."

"So you agree that this looks like a–"

"Think of the boost to tourist activity."

Gaius frowned. "There is no way I will allow my name to be on a product that looks to all intents and purposes like a plush penis!"

Wingul lowered his head. He just kept losing this battle.

"Then, Your Highness, do you agree that I am not fit to be your sew slave?"

Gaius made a choked noise and Wingul looked up in time to see him run his hand over his forehead.

"You know perfectly well that I don't need a sew slave," the king said. He looked a lot more tired than Wingul right now, and Gaius wasn't the one who had spent the night drinking and sewing. "I doubt anyone has need of a sew slave."

"And my original request?" Wingul prompted. Agria wasn't around this time.

"I already accepted it yesterday," Gaius said and held out his hand to Wingul. "For now. I expect you to regain your confidence with time and drop this ridiculous slave talk. It runs counter to my vision for this world."

Wingul's eyes were fixed on Gaius's hand. He wasn't used to winning against Gaius and he wondered if this was what it was supposed to feel like, like he was back in the bar and the moonlight was making his wine glow.

"Come, Wingul. You dearly need a day off, and I will use it to remind you why you have always been by my side."

—

"Alvin."

"Yurgen."

"Why exactly is this bottle wearing a tiny butler suit?"

Alvin put on his best trust-worthy face and slipped his arm around Yurgen's shoulder.

"Isn't it great? I have it on good authority that they will sell like crazy. How about we include them as promotion in bulk orders for now?"

Wingul's enthusiasm for the bottle suit had seemed a guarantee of success to Alvin, but then, they had both been perfectly wasted by the time Alvin picked up the needles. Yurgen did not seem as excited about it. Where was the damn tactician when you needed him most?

"Do you realize," Yurgen said, "that you smell like you took a bath in porange wine, Alvin?"

Alvin hurriedly snatched his arm back and took a few steps backwards. "I swear I wasn't–"

Yurgen's look shut him up. Alvin averted his eyes and grit his teeth. He knew it wasn't really the drinking that bothered his partner but rather the constant lies. Well, maybe the drinking played a small part too.

"I like it," Yurgen said.

Alvin looked up. "What?"

"The suit. It makes the bottle look very dashing. The nobles will love it."

"Oh," Alvin said and stared.

"We should create different designs. A maid costume would be popular too, I think."

"Oh," Alvin said again. This time, his smile came naturally.

—

* * *

_Dedicated to YumeHanabi's typo that changed my life._


End file.
